Sherlock - The Case Files
by Whisperingwater
Summary: Mysteries. Experiments. Cases. Serial murders. A man who lives and breathes for these things, who looks only for the next thrill and not for any monetary gain. A doctor who can wield a gun and is loyal to a fault. An assistant who might just be in love with the detective. Read about a self-declared high functioning sociopath and follow his adventures with the Case Files.
1. Case 1 - Prologue

**Disclaimer:** BBC SHERLOCK TV Show is the property of BBC/MASTERPIECE.

The characters of Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. **No copyright infringement intended.**

I'm just borrowing these marvelous characters and making them solve crimes for me and all that comes from my imagination. _Characters like Harper Crew, Adelaide Lyndon, Theodore Kingston, Arden Hale and Charlotte Lyndon belong to me, I created them to join the brilliant Detective and the Doctor._

* * *

 **A/N:** _Welcome to my world of Sherlock._ Mysteries. Experiments. Cases. Serial murders. A man who lives and breathes for these things, who looks only for the next thrill and not for any monetary gain. A doctor who can wield a gun and is loyal to a fault. An assistant who might just be in love with the detective.

Read about a self-declared high functioning sociopath with a faithful friend. Follow them as the genius and his doctor solve cases that leave others befuddled. Crossing various impediments, saving people and solving insoluble mysteries all the while making sure that their handful of loved ones are safe and sound as they cross the labyrinths of truth and lies.

Read on to follow their adventures in 'Sherlock - The Case Files'.

* * *

 **Case 1 - The Mystery of the Camborne Hauntings**

 **Prologue**

A light smog covered the whole of London, most of its residents moved around, the city bustling without a care of all that went about it.

In the dimly lit apartment of 221B, the detective nonchalantly tapped his fingers on the table while waiting for John to arrive. It had been almost an hour since he'd texted him. He lay on the couch in his trademark purple shirt and slacks. His bright eyes moved fast tracking an invisible pattern of clues that only he saw and understood.

"John!" He shouted when he heard the door open. _Light footsteps with heel, not John then. A waft of a flowery scent._ "Going out to meet your friends again, Mrs. Hudson?" he drawled, a single eyebrow raised as she walked in with a tray.

"Really, Sherlock! There is no need to say it every time. Oh my! Are these eyeballs?"

Sherlock looked at her with annoyance. "Don't touch that, Mrs. Hudson."

"Keeping a Skull here and human eyes in the kitchen? Ooh . . . what will I ever do with you, Sherlock? I am going to throw them away."

"Mrs. Hudson! I said _do not_ touch them!" Sherlock yelled and the poor landlady gave him a look that clearly showed her disapproval before exiting in a hurry.

Sherlock sighed, he was out of nicotine patches. He wondered if he should break into his secret stash that John had hidden in his laptop case. Out of his own annoyance, he screamed, "JOHN!"

"I'm here! Why are you yelling now, Sherlock?" came an annoyed voice from the door.

Sherlock turned sharply and glared at his friend. His only friend. His friend whom he had been waiting for, and Sherlock Holmes _didn't_ like waiting. "Phone!" He held his hand out towards John.

"Excuse me?"

"Really, John! How does that brain of yours work? What was it that you didn't comprehend this time? I said phone!"

John shook his head. "You texted me . . . when I was on the other side of London, just for _my phone_? You said it was an EMERGENCY!"

Sherlock smirked. "It is an emergency, now phone, please."

"Sherlock, you _texted_ me! Why can't you use your bloody phone?" John sighed and plopped on the couch.

"John, you already know that the number is on my website—"

"A website no one reads," John cut him off. "And that phone of yours is buzzing."

"Ignore it! It's Mycroft." Sherlock shook his head and turned to face the window. He looked out before turning towards John. "Someone texted me. Read it!"

"Why should I read your bloody texts?"

"Because I asked you to." Sherlock grinned before walking away to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and picked two human eyeballs and placed them on the table.

Annoyed, John groaned and picked up Sherlock's phone and read the text. "It's Greg. He would like to meet you."

"Greg, who?" Sherlock asked as he dropped one eyeball in the liquid in front of him.

"Greg Lestrade. Detective Inspector Lestrade, Sherlock!"

"Oh! I thought it was Geoff. But it _was_ Geoff. Wasn't it _Geoff_?" Sherlock asked, running his hand through his hair.

"No! His name is Greg. And you already know that," John replied.

"Unwanted information! Deleted it. What does he want now?"

John walked towards him; placing his phone on the table, he said, "He wants to meet you."

Sherlock smiled and handed over a cup to him. "Go ahead, drink it."

John looked at the cup in surprise. "Coffee? You made coffee? You _never_ make coffee."

"John. Drink. Now."

John took a sip and coughed. He quickly put the cup down and rushed to the bathroom to throw up. When he came back, he noticed Sherlock on the couch. "Oh! It was a harmless experiment. I dropped the eyeball for taste, but I guess it didn't work."

"You did what?"

Without replying Sherlock walked away to his room and came back with his trench coat on. He smiled as he spoke, "We have a mystery to solve, Doctor. Come along now, no time to waste."

"A case? Where?" John asked, following Sherlock.

"The Secret Lake." The detective smiled secretly before moving out, his blogger following him. Once out, he turned towards the street with a smirk and hailed a cab.

* * *

 **A/N Part 2:** Whoop! This is way too different from my usual Karamel stories, isn't it? Well, this was written before all the Karamel stories. Haha! Do expect a regular update on Sundays. This will be one helluva rollercoaster ride, folks! If you love mysteries, I promise you are in for a treat. I would love to know what you think, so please, do leave me a comment. :)

 _Why is this chapter so small?_ It's just because it's the premise, other chapters are usually very long.

 **Review and Comments are much appreciated!**

 **And don't forget to click those little 'Favorite' and 'Follow' buttons. You will get a notification whenever the story is updated!**


	2. Case 1 - Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 - The Eidetic Mind**

John sat fuming next to Sherlock, who silently stared out the window. "Eyeballs, Sherlock?! Really, an eye—" he grumbled as Sherlock turned to look at him with a single eyebrow raised.

"Oh, do grow up, John! It was a harmless experiment."

John sputtered, "Harmless!"

Before John could start on Sherlock treating him and the rest of the world like lab rats, the taxi pulled over in front of Scotland Yard.

Walking in towards Lestrade's office, Sherlock smirked seeing Anderson exit. "Anderson, it wasn't enough for Donovan to carry off your scent, now you have to carry hers? Tell me, how are you dealing with your wife's affair?"

And before Anderson could stutter out a reply, Sherlock walked into the Detective Inspector's office, slamming the door shut as soon as John entered.

"Morning," the detective simply said as he looked around for a good whole minute.

"Oh, Sherlock, John, good morning. Here are the case details," Lestrade replied quickly.

John picked up the file just as Sherlock gave it a glance before turning away and pulling his iPhone out. He furiously typed and searched for something on the Internet.

"Camborne? It's a town. What is this about a Secret Lake?" John asked, flipping through the pages.

Sherlock frowned at the screen of his phone. "Lestrade, I need a recent map of Camborne. Now." When he saw that both John and Lestrade were just staring at him, he snorted, "Sometime today, Detective Inspector!"

That seemed to snap them out of their stupor and Lestrade asked Anderson to get the maps. When Anderson came back, he handed over the maps to Sherlock and said, "You won't find it! It's not there."

"Really, Anderson, consider going mute. It would do the world's combined IQ a whole load of good."

Anderson scowled but seeing Lestrade's warning gaze, he walked out of the room, huffing loudly. Sherlock began to search the map, but he didn't have enough information. There were obvious clues that were missing.

"Sherlock, there must be a reason why it's called a _secret_ lake," John spoke after examining the map along with his friend.

"Oh, stop stating the obvious, John! Of course it's not on the map. _Interesting!_ John, get ready, we are going to Camborne!" And with that and a dramatic swish of his coat, Sherlock walked out but not before saying something to Sergeant Donovan that had her first blushing and then blanching before turning to glare at Anderson. John sent an apologetic look at Lestrade and walked out just in time to hear, "Ah, the game is ON, John. The game is on!"

"Sherlock, wait!" Lestrade called after him.

"What now?" The detective raised one annoyed eyebrow.

"Umm . . . You won't be working on this case alone," Lestrade replied.

"Detective Inspector, am I the _only_ person on this planet who acknowledges John's presence?"

John glared at Sherlock and opened his mouth to retaliate, just to be cut off by Lestrade, who said, "You have an assistant, who will work with you on this case. She's great—"

"She?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed at the DI.

"She means a _girl_ , Freak." Anderson dropped by to explain.

"What an astute observation, Anderson! How strained are your brain cells from figuring that out?" Sherlock looked balefully at the man.

"Freak, you don't—" Anderson started to defend himself just when someone cut him off.

"I'm here. I'm so sorry I'm late," called a young girl as she ran towards them.

Sherlock looked at the girl once and his mind was already deducing who she was.

 _Dog Lover. Clever. Brave. Nosy. Observant. Sleep Deprived. Beautiful Smile. Caffeine Addict. Confident. Slightly Arrogant. Well Wisher. Interesting, Natural Redhead . . . Perm. No. Natural curls._

"You are staring, it's rude," the redhead stated, looking at Sherlock with her huge emerald green eyes.

Sherlock turned away. "She's not working with us."

"Sherlock, let's give her a chance," John called after him.

The girl rushed towards Sherlock and lightly placed her hand on his arm, not really constraining him but more as a plea to listen. Sherlock stopped. "Mr. Holmes, please give me one good reason why I can't work with you."

 _Sure of herself. Only Child . . . no, a younger brother. Went to boarding school. Dangerous._

"Because you are too young."

"I'm twenty-two, not too young. And it's the experience that matters. My name is Harper Crew. Nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes," Harper said, still holding Sherlock's arm.

Sherlock turned around and faced her. He looked at her eyes before enquiring, "Why does it look like you are trying to memorize the place, Miss. Crew?"

"Because that's what I'm doing." Smiling, she began to walk along with him to the exit all the way talking about mundane things with John.

Sherlock smirked. "Ah! Eidetic memory. Good. You can work with us _for the time being_. John, let's go."

John sputtered while Lestrade smiled and shrugged, and Harper smiled at Sherlock's back.

* * *

Once they were out and Sherlock was hailing the cab, John called out to him, "Eidetic memory, eh? How did you figure that out?"

"Really, John, you always see and never observe. She took everything in a glance and even though she was talking to you while we walked out, she still managed to avoid that third squeaky step."

All through the taxi ride back, Sherlock stayed silent and walked out the minute the cab stopped. John hurriedly paid the Cabbie before following Sherlock upstairs. He sighed, hanging up his coat as he saw Sherlock drop on his armchair in what he had termed Sherlock's thinking pose. Sherlock was definitely in his Mind Palace now.

Hearing his stomach grumble made John realize that he had missed lunch, and he decided that a cup of tea and a slice of the pie that Mrs. Hudson had made for them would be perfect.

Opening the fridge, he cursed, "Sherlock! How many times do I have to tell you to keep the body parts on a different shelf than the food?" Growling when Sherlock didn't answer, John gingerly pushed the dish that looked like it had a liver on it aside to reach the pie behind it.

"John, dear . . ." Mrs. Hudson startled him causing him to bang his head against the refrigerator door, that made her gasp. "Are you alright, dear? Ooh, is that my pie . . .?" She asked looking scandalized as she eyed the liver, "Oh Sherlock, that is not good, not good at all." Saying so, she left.

John sent a wan smile her way before pulling out the pie and helping himself to a slice. He watched as Sherlock suddenly exclaimed and looked up excited. "John, the laptop now!"

"Now . . . Sherlock, I'm eating!"

"NOW, John!"

John got up and picked Sherlock's laptop which was right next to the table near the armchair where Sherlock was seated. "Here!"

John frowned as he sat eating. Sherlock had snatched the laptop right out of his hands and had been busily browsing ever since.

"Anything interesting there?"

"Hmm . . ."

"Sherlock?"

". . ."

"Really, what are you looking at?" He asked, dusting the crumbs off his sweater and walking to stand behind Sherlock.

"Harper! You are looking up Harper?" John smiled.

"John, does it pay to state the obvious? Oh wait, don't bother replying. Because if it did, you would be a millionaire by now."

John frowned before peering over Sherlock's shoulder, "Huh . . . impressive, she studied under one of the best detectives in Japan for three years."

"Hmm . . ." With that Sherlock went back to his research.

Half an hour later, he asked John to pack his bag as they were leaving to Camborne. And after five hours of listening to Sherlock describe every possible method of getting killed in a train, John was happy to finally reach the town of Camborne.

It was a quaint, little town living in its past glory. The building varied from modern houses to what almost looked like ruins of much older buildings. It gave off a comfortable but mysterious aura. Sherlock glanced around once before he began to busily type on his phone again.

"John, hello!" A gruff voice came from behind them. John turned around to look at DI Lestrade.

Harper was walking behind the DI, looking around. She stood observing the whole place carefully. Then quickly moving towards the others with a bright smile on her face, she greeted, "Hello, Dr. Watson."

"Hello there, please call me John." He smiled, shaking hands with her.

"Ahem!" Sherlock cleared his throat and looked at Harper. "Is there something you want to share with us, Miss. Crew?"

"Ah! Now that's what you do. Anderson told me that you read people's mind, but I didn't believe him. I guess he was right about the whole mind reading thing." Harper smiled in appreciation.

"You believe Anderson's words? Do you know that brings _your_ intelligence into question?" Sherlock smirked.

Ignoring the quip against her intelligence, Harper continued, "Well, I did some research about this town. Apparently, the mysterious lake and the ruins near it are haunted. There was a castle once which caught fire and no one knew how. They say that the Spirits haunt the ruins and the lake—"

"Wrong!"

"Pardon?" Harper raised an eyebrow at him. Sherlock just rolled his eyes and muttered something about rumors before pulling out his phone again.

"There are no such things as ghosts, spirits or troubled souls. Ghost stories are created to either scare people into accepting a threat or to keep people away from a certain place. And now, that's happening here so obviously something is being covered up." Sherlock gave a small smile and grazed his chin with his finger. "Now the question is: what is so important, so as to create a haunting?"

With a smirk, Sherlock raised the collars of his trench coat and walked away smiling mysteriously, while John shook his head, and Harper stared at Sherlock in what could only be described as awe.

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay, Supergirl fans, the one I imagine in my head as Harper is none other than Melissa Benoist! :)

 **Review and Comments are much appreciated!**

 **And don't forget to click those little 'Favorite' and 'Follow' buttons. You will get a notification whenever the story is updated!**


	3. Case 1 - Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 - Drenched Depths**

The Inn that Lestrade had booked for them looked like it had seen better days. What had at one point been a quaint summer home, had now been converted to the gloomy Inn before them.

Trudging in, they were surprised to see a much nicer interior and as Lestrade checked in, Sherlock couldn't help but give John a rundown about their innkeeper. "Married. Twice. Three Children. Hates Cows. Loves Cheese. In the process of getting a divorce. Recovering Alcoholic—" he stopped when John elbowed him as the innkeeper frowned at them.

"Your keys, Sir. Have a pleasant stay," the innkeeper said, while his whole smile said he wanted to strangle Sherlock.

Harper smiled as Lestrade helped her with her baggage. When she turned around, she noticed Sherlock striding ahead of them not even glancing back to look at John, who was struggling with their baggage. They agreed that it was way too late to do anything else but retire for the night and start the next day afresh.

* * *

Later that night, as Harper sat brushing her hair by the window, she glanced down to see a figure disappear into the dark. A figure with a very distinctive coat.

Frowning, she saw it was almost midnight. She decided to see where Sherlock was heading at this time of the night and pulling on a jacket, hurried out behind him.

Harper caught sight of Sherlock's shadow soon and followed him as subtly as she could just like her Instructors in Osaka had taught her. Sherlock looked like he was deep in thought, moving one way and then suddenly stopping to walk off in the opposite direction; all of a sudden she heard him exclaim and walk into what looked like a clearing just to see that he had disappeared.

She stood shocked for a moment, her eyes taking in the moonlight lit lake and the shrubs around it. It looked and felt like she was all alone. Wondering if her sleep addled mind had come up with the figure, she moved to go back when suddenly a hand shot out of the dark and pushed her against a tree. She opened her mouth to scream only to find that she couldn't. Long elegant fingers covered her mouth as Sherlock's aristocratic features, half shadowed by the night's light zoomed into focus. His blue eyes looking ethereal like shining stars.

"Why have you been following me, Miss. Crew?"

She stuttered, "Umm . . . you see . . . umm that is. Why are you out so late without telling Detective Inspector Lestrade?" She shot back defensively.

He snorted and raised a single elegant eyebrow. "Really, Miss. Crew, that is none of your business. Though I would advise you to not rage like a bull in the dark."

She growled, "How did you know I was here?!" Demanding emerald eyes shone in the dark.

Sherlock gave her a smirk. "You do realize, Miss. Crew, that I am much more perceptive and in tune with my surroundings than most people are. Also, John has a tendency to follow me at times, but he is a lot more subtle and light on his feet than you are. Now if you really want to know, you stepped on twigs three different times, splashed into two puddles and sneezed once." He looked down at her carefully. "And to think John thought you would make a useful addition." Saying so he turned away to investigate the area a little more.

Harper gaped at him, insulted and slightly hurt. She looked down at her shoes. When she heard a swish of the coat, she looked up and followed Sherlock. She grabbed his coat, as he turned towards her.

"It's dark, please, let me hold your coat. I don't want to get lost here," she begged. Sherlock scanned her face and nodded. Moving forward, he pulled out a flashlight from his pocket.

Sherlock kept walking till he came to an abrupt stop. Harper walked right into him and stepped back, rubbing her forehead. Sherlock frowned at her and moved forward.

An owl hooted in the distance, causing her to scramble closer to Sherlock, who couldn't help but roll his eyes. For a woman who spent years training under a world renowned detective, she got scared of the slightest things.

"Looks like we found the mysterious lake, Miss. Crew." He smirked, gesturing towards the waterbody in front of them.

A slight sound of water swishing through the dark was the only sound cutting through the night. Harper peered over his side to check out the large expanse of lake stretching out before them. Dark and gloomy, it seemed offended to even reflect the bright light of the moon.

"Miss. Crew," Sherlock's sharp voice cut through the air and caused her to jump again.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes?"

He looked at her before saying, "Look around and take in the scene, in detail. The only reason you are here is because of your skill, so be productive and use it. Really, with that necessity to impress people, I had hoped you would do this without me _telling_ you."

She nodded, ignoring his comment and started slowly cataloging the scene around them. Her scan was interrupted when she felt a drop of water slide down her nose, looking up she noticed Sherlock pulling up his coat's collar effectively protecting him as the sky opened up above them. In a matter of seconds they were both drenched, and at Sherlock's observation that the rain wouldn't be stopping any time soon, they began to make their way back.

Halfway through, Harper felt shocked to feel Sherlock's coat drape over her. Looking at him shocked, she heard him snort and say, "Wouldn't do well for our investigation if you fall ill."

She smiled at him, following him slowly into the hotel. Once they reached the hallway upstairs, she smiled as she took off his coat; Sherlock just looked at her. They both looked up when a door nearby opened and John walked out, sleep evident in his eyes.

He took in the scene of both of them standing there soaking wet with Harper holding Sherlock's coat in her hand. He raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to ask. Thinking better of it, he shook his head and walked back to his room. Just before the door closed, Sherlock heard him say, "Don't think I won't be asking you about what the bloody hell this is in the morning, Sherlock. After I am completely awake and have had a cup of tea, that is."

Harper sneezed and looked at John's closed door. Sherlock's mouth quirked into a half smile as John's lock clicked shut. Not giving a second glance at Harper, he walked into his room, moving out for just a second to pull his coat from her numb hands and then his door clicked shut as well. Harper stood there stunned for a minute, before she shook her head and walked into her room.

Once in her room, she realized she had begun to shiver and decided a shower was necessary. A hot shower later, she lay in bed thinking of the complex, intriguing and frankly a tad bit intimidating man as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The morning brought them all to the dining hall, whereas everyone else was actually eating, Sherlock seemed to be contemplating his eggs. _His curls seem more pronounced, maybe because of the rain,_ Harper thought. His shirt clung to him like a second skin, his coat draped over him perfectly. Next to him, John looked like a polar opposite in his grey sweater. Staring again at Sherlock, who had still not touched his eggs but seemed to be engrossed in a bunch of teabags and what looked like a bloody rag, Harper leaned over to whisper to John, "Does he ever eat?"

John immediately cast a reproachful look at Sherlock to which the detective just raised an eyebrow in question.

"You really should eat more, Sherlock," John insisted.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Not necessary, John. It's a waste of time." Saying so, he got up and walked away. John frowned at his back, Harper looked confused and Lestrade looked amused as they finished their breakfast.

Later, Lestrade let out an angry huff when he realized that Sherlock had gone investigating without them. "Really now, Sherlock—" the rest had drowned out as Sherlock began to walk into the forest. A few minutes in, Harper squeaked before shutting up. The noise had caused the other three men to look at her in question. "It's just that you went the other way last night," she explained, looking straight at Sherlock.

Sherlock tilted his head in acknowledgement before turning around with a smirk on his face. John, who had just caught up with him, muttered, "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

Sherlock nodded, "I wanted to test how far her eidetic memory goes."

Turning, he patted Harper's head and walked off, "Good Job, Miss. Crew, you aren't absolutely useless."

Harper stood still wondering if that had been a compliment or an insult but seeing them all moving ahead, she decided to think about it later.

They suddenly walked into an opening, the same one that she had followed Sherlock into the previous night. John and Lestrade looked around when Harper spotted something. She grabbed onto Sherlock's arm and pulled him towards the river bank.

"What is wrong with you?" Sherlock frowned at her.

"Look! Over there. Behind that tree," Harper said, pointing towards what looked like a boat, "it wasn't there last night!"

Sherlock looked and a smile graced his face. "Of course! Last night . . . the wind velocity was down, small vessel. So, not a huge equipment, but what? Been dragged to shore by a large person . . . or two. They came after we left. Around three?" He pulled out his phone and quickly browsed at something. "No, three thirty. Strange, why then?"

Slowly, he moved away and walked towards the boat. John followed him when he noticed that Sherlock wasn't answering any of his questions or shouts. Harper moved away to investigate the other side of the lake with Lestrade, who seemed to have found something.

Sherlock's eyes roved over the boat pulling it apart and putting it back together in seconds, he took in the ground around it, when John made a questioning gasp, he started breaking the boat down for him, "Old make . . . stopped in 1993. Has been repaired six times since. Owner has Parkinson's. Heavy merchandise shipped."

John's whisper of _amazing_ went unheard. Sherlock stepped closer to the boat gingerly dipping his hand to a corner to pull off a black smudge. He brought his fingers up to his nose and then held it up to John. "Tell me, John, what does this look like?"

John gave him a confused look before looking at the smudge in question. "Oil? Over here? Can it be oil for the boat?" John asked puzzled.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, too light. This is used as fuel in basic camping. Maybe from an oil lamp. So . . . he wanted to avoid detection of his presence. Oil lamps not only have a lower glow than flashlights, they also tend to give a sense of gloom further increasing the inane rumors about paranormal activities whenever seen. It's pretty simple, John. They weren't expecting people to find this place hence the drop in caution. If he used the lamp and dropped the oil, it must have left a trail."

Moving quickly over the surrounding ground, his expert eyes caught the oil trail and he began to follow it. John moved behind Sherlock quickly. The woods were dark, but the oil trail easy to spot when looking for it, and was steadily leading them someplace.

After following the trail for almost ten minutes, they reached a clearing and there it stood . . . the ruins of the castle that was burnt down years ago.

"Oh! Someone used the lamp to go into the ruins at night!" John exclaimed.

"You are right, John. I'm going in," Sherlock called, as he moved forward.

"Mr. Holmes! Wait for me!" came a loud voice from the woods. Sherlock turned around with an annoyed look to see Harper running towards him.

"What do you want now? Don't follow me! And why would you think it's a feasible idea to shout in this place alerting whoever it is we are following?"

"Sherlock!" John frowned at his friend. He turned around and faced Harper. "Are you alright? Where is Lestrade?"

"I'm fine," Harper said, panting. "Just out of breath!" She bent down and breathed slowly. "Detective Inspector got a call and he had to go back to the Inn. He thought he found something but it was a dead end."

"How did you find us?" John asked her quickly.

"I followed the oil trail. It was quite simple. Whoever left that trail mustn't have thought of a visitor. I guess that's why they call this place haunted. But it might be true! Look at that castle. It's so creepy!"

"Oh, be quiet! If you cannot utter anything but the obvious then keep your words to yourself," Sherlock said in an extremely annoyed tone.

"What?" Harper's face fell.

Sherlock suddenly looked up and began to run towards the ruins.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, what happened?" came John's voice behind him even as Sherlock tried to figure out from where in the castle the noise had come.

John followed Sherlock, but Harper fell back to look around the ruins more.

Slowly, she made her way towards the dark rooms or whatever was left of the rooms. She pulled out her flashlight to see if she could find some clues. Just as she stepped out in the light, she felt a presence behind her. Before she could turn around something hit her head and she screamed in pain before collapsing.

When Sherlock and John heard Harper's scream they ran towards the other side to see her on the ground. Blood seeped out the side of her head. Sherlock quickly pulled his scarf and tried to stop the blood while John took her vitals.

"We need to get her back to the town immediately, Sherlock. She needs help!" John shouted.

Without thinking twice, Sherlock pulled her up and carried her as they made their way back to the lake.

 _She was attacked. But who could do it? Was it the person with the oil lamp? Was it the person who distracted them so he could attack Harper? Who was he?_

All these thoughts circled Sherlock's mind as he picked up his pace, making sure not to jostle Harper too much in his arms. They could find the attacker later, but saving Harper's life was more important now.

* * *

 **A/N:** Oops! What just happened to Harper?

 **Review and Comments are much appreciated!**

 **And don't forget to click those little 'Favorite' and 'Follow' buttons. You will get a notification whenever the story is updated!**


	4. Case 1 - Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 - Night of Shadows**

Sherlock shifted Harper in his arms again as he moved behind John towards the inn. She had been attacked, but there were no traces of an attacker, the soil outside had been wet because of the rain but there had been no distinctive footprints. So whoever it was, had been really careful to hide their tracks and whatever it was that they were hiding or they had another entrance. That needed more looking into definitely. Harper had saved him by remembering the scene exactly, but the girl had a drive to go places without any thought and get herself into situations, and he didn't want her accidental death on his hands. _I'll have to talk to Lestrade about getting her off the job_ , he thought before suddenly remembering that Lestrade had been very firm about the fact that if Harper was off the case then so was he. _I'll have to get Lestrade to babysit her then_ , Sherlock decided. His inner musings were cut short when John grumbled again.

"There is absolutely no sort of connectivity here!"

Sherlock gave John a nod and they both hurried forward seeing the inn lights stand out in the stark darkness of the forest.

They moved quickly to Harper's room and noticed that Lestrade, whom John had finally been able to contact had pulled out the First Aid. Sherlock dropped her on the bed, and John immediately began to check her over. Deeming his work done, Sherlock sprawled on the couch in the room, reconstructing the events of the evening to see if he had missed something.

Almost an hour later, there was a knock on the door and the innkeeper peered in.

"Is everything alright, Mr. Wilson?" John looked up and asked him to come in.

The innkeeper hesitated but stepped in. "I . . . err . . . I heard something happened to Miss. Crew. Are you alright, Miss?"

"I'm better now," Harper replied slowly sitting up with John's help. Sherlock just gave a glance in her direction and deduced that other than a nasty fright and a shallow cut on the forehead, she was fine. So he went back to his thinking, ignoring the way the innkeeper stared at him.

"Did you go to the haunted lake? And the ruins? You are not allowed to step foot in. Or else you . . ." he stopped, perspiration forming over his forehead. He reeked of nervousness and the only reason Sherlock didn't roll his eyes was because they were closed in contemplation.

"Or else what?" John asked.

"Or . . ." he gulped. "Or else you will be cursed. The spirit of the Lady of the castle will haunt you forever."

"Mr. Wilson, is there an old legend about that place? What happened?" Harper asked, her eyes bright with excitement at finding out more.

"Well, years ago that old castle belonged to Lord Argton, the third. It is said that every time the Lord went to battle, the Lady would light a lamp and wait for the Lord to arrive. She waited at the tower every single day. Be it hail or storm, she would be in the tower showing her husband the way home. But one day he didn't come back and when she made her way downstairs to see why an empty boat had drifted to shore, the lamp fell and the whole place caught fire. It's said that her spirit haunts the ruins and waits in the same tower with the lamp, still waiting for her Lord to return."

John looked at the innkeeper in surprise. Harper catalogued the information in her mind while Sherlock just began to add this new bit of information to his internal web of connecting events.

"Whoever goes to that ruin," the innkeeper continued, "the spirit attacks that person and drowns them in that lake. That's why it's haunted."

"People have drowned in that lake? Were the bodies ever found?" John asked curiously.

"No, they were never found. Around four men have disappeared till date."

"Alright, Mr. Wilson, this is an interesting story," Sherlock suddenly spoke. "But it's time for Miss. Crew to rest, please get her some soup and then leave."

The innkeeper looked at Sherlock in shock, then he just shook his head and walked away.

Sherlock grinned, and John looked on in confusion. "What's going on, Sherlock?"

The detective looked at him, surprised. "Don't you see, John? It's all right there. Clever, oh so clever. But they must have hidden . . . Of course." He noticed John still looked confused, so he turned to face Harper.

"I hope you are doing better, Miss. Crew."

Harper beamed at Sherlock. "Yes, Mr. Holmes."

He nodded and then pulled on his coat again while throwing John's coat to him. "Come on, John. Time to investigate," Sherlock called out to him. John simply nodded and told Harper to rest and walked out.

Just before he left, Sherlock turned back and leaned in close to Harper, she gasped as his breath fanned out over her ear. "The darkness is not always a foe but an ally at times. Rest well, Harper."

Smirking, he walked out the door, leaving behind a completely confused Harper.

* * *

An hour later, John was busy talking with the locals trying to find more about the missing people while Sherlock set off for the ruins again.

 _Of course, it made sense now._ A water route connected to a hidden castle would have been preferred by the Lord at that time. But the question was: who was using it now? He had made sure to practice a few elusive maneuvers to make sure he wasn't followed, before he made his way to the lake and then the castle. As the search continued to be futile his frustration grew and he glared at the floor of the room he had been in earlier when Harper was attacked. Suddenly a protrusion caught his eye.

While the whole floor was ash covered and was dirty, it was also smooth but at the farthest corner of the room, right next to an antique half-burned table, the floor rose and looked a little uneven. Tapping a foot against it, he couldn't help but smirk when he heard the sound of shallow flooring. It took him a matter of seconds to figure out the ancient trigger under the table and suddenly, the trapdoor next to him sprung open without a sound. Waiting to see if anyone came out, he slowly peered in before grinning. Now if only he could find the bodies of the unlucky victims of the ghost.

At the same time, Harper stepped out of the inn. It had gotten dark with no sign of either Sherlock or John coming back. It wasn't like she was invalided, and she just wanted to find out what was going on.

She pulled on her jacket and walked out towards the other side of the woods, which hadn't been explored before. Though she had the sense to first ask the innkeeper for a map detailing the area and had stored the information away for later use.

As she kept walking, she felt the air get colder. It was freezing, and she rubbed her hands together to warm them. She pulled out her flashlight as it grew too dark to walk without a light.

Harper kept walking till she saw big gates in front of her. She saw large words written on the gate.

 _ **East Wood Cemetery**_

"A cemetery, here? Strange!" She cautiously pushed the gates open. They opened with a creak, and she shivered.

"Don't be scared, Harp," she told herself and walked in.

The darkness didn't feel oppressive here. Somehow Sherlock's words made sense now. To embrace the darkness kept her fear for it away, and she counted herself lucky to be cured of the fear and turned to investigate in earnest now. Also, Sherlock's words had been for _her_. He had wanted her to investigate in the dark so her investigation wouldn't be interrupted. _But he could have told me that without twisting his words_ , she pouted before shaking her head and looking around again.

Harper kept moving forward, checking all the gravestones. As she reached the end of the cemetery something caught her eye. It was a huge grave with no headstone. She bent down and tried to figure out why it was so odd and when she finally did . . . _she ran_.

* * *

Sherlock was making his way through the woods, pleased that his investigations had paid off. Now, if he could just find out what happened to the missing people.

John might have some information, so he walked ahead in the darkness when he saw someone running towards him.

"Mr. Holmes! Is that you?" Harper called, shining the flashlight towards him. She came to a halt in front of him and panted heavily.

"Stop trying to raise the dead, Harper. Now breath. Good, tell me what is it?" Sherlock asked, looking at her pale, frightened, shivering form. Harper looked like she had just seen a ghost.

"I . . . over there, a cemetery . . . I found something. Come quickly," she said as she grabbed his hand. Sherlock pulled his arm out of her grasp and walked ahead. Harper looked at him in shock, this was not the time to act all high and mighty.

She shook her head and lead him towards the cemetery and when they reached the place, she ran inside towards the big grave. It was a huge mound, much wider in width than most graves were. What piqued Sherlock's interest was the fact that the grave looked new compared to all the ancient ones around it. Sherlock looked at the grave and rubbed his chin with his finger. Slowly, he moved towards the other end where he found a shovel. He walked back and removed his coat, ignoring the cold breeze that hit him. He started digging a hole as Harper shone the light.

After almost ten minutes of digging the hole, the shovel hit something hard and it wouldn't go beyond. Sherlock got down on his knees and moved the sand away to see a large wooden plank, which almost looked like a trapdoor.

Sherlock quickly pulled the door open and a second later flinched as Harper screamed in terror next to him.

* * *

 **A/N:** I love when Harper gets into some kinda trouble! She's just so cute! *imagines Melissa Benoist* :D

 **Review and Comments are much appreciated!**

 **And don't forget to click those little 'Favorite' and 'Follow' buttons. You will get a notification whenever the story is updated!**


	5. Case 1 - Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 - Unravelling Truths**

Harper's scream startled Sherlock, and he looked back to see her stumbling away and dry hurling. The fear in her eyes was so prominent, it made him stare for a minute before his eyes widened in realization. Her eidetic memory would cause her to remember the sight all her life. Never blurred out, never forgotten. She would see it just as clearly then, as she saw it now – etched in her memory, forever.

Frowning, he turned back, his eyes scanning the site in front of him. Right in front of him lay four bodies in various stages of decomposition. Each seemed to have a bullet hole through the head. It was the obvious cause of death. The last body had been the most decomposed while the nearest looked a little less broken. Sherlock's eyes went over each body cataloguing and cross-referencing with all the facts. The killer or killers, as the footprints in the grave indicated, hadn't been all too cautious and were really greedy. Each valuable, including what Sherlock deduced as a diamond stud earring of the third victim, had been taken.

"It seems we have come across the victims, Harper."

Harper just let a choked sob out. "Can we . . . can we ple . . . please just go?!" she pleaded, her voice breaking. She had lost all pallor and looked spooked which, given the circumstances, Sherlock guessed was a valid reaction.

Sherlock looked at her once before nodding. He pulled the plank back, covering the hole and lightly threw a layer of soil to cover the grave, and then he went to hide the shovel again.

As he walked out the gate, he saw Harper walking a few feet ahead of him, shivering like a leaf and hugging herself, her eyes when she turned to him, were still haunted and wide with fear.

They made their way back to the inn, Harper looking shaken, while Sherlock walked beside her already muting the goriness of the scene so it wouldn't affect his thought process.

A few feet from the inn entrance, Sherlock dodged a punch aimed at his face. "Really, John, there is no need for all the dramatics."

"You were bloody missing for hours! While I know you have a tendency to disappear without a word, I thought better of you, Harper—" John trailed off when he saw Harper walk right past him, ignoring both him and Sherlock. He raised an eyebrow in Sherlock's direction, asking silently what was wrong, but when he saw that Sherlock wasn't even paying him attention anymore but was staring at the ground, deep in thought, he worriedly began to follow Harper inside.

"Where did you both go, Sherlock? What's happened to her?" John asked, his voice laced with concern and worry.

Sherlock, who was now following him, looked a little awkward as he answered, "It seems I miscalculated the amount to which Miss. Crew is affected by her . . . talent. It might be one of those times where remembering things clearly might be disadvantageous."

John snorted at Sherlock's roundabout explanation that explained absolutely nothing, and then winced when he heard the door of Harper's room slam.

John's eyebrows shot up into the hairline when he saw Harper's uncharacteristic behavior.

"Really Sherl—" he paused when he noticed that while he was staring at Harper's door, Sherlock had walked away to his own room and winced when he heard Sherlock's door slam, too. Used to the idiosyncrasies of his roommate, he decided that it was way too late to nag Sherlock now. Shaking his head, he decided that Sherlock and the mystery could wait till the next morning, preferably till he had had a cup of tea.

* * *

The next morning, John sat up abruptly, bleary-eyed staring at his wristwatch near the bedside. He cursed when he saw it was only half past six. Though his nightmares weren't as frequent as they used to be, they did occasionally take over his dreams when he was stressed. Knowing from experience that he wouldn't be getting anymore sleep, he decided to get ready and get a cup of tea before tackling the enigma, commonly known as Sherlock Holmes.

When he went downstairs into the inn's lounge, Sherlock was seated on an armchair sipping some tea; when John walked over towards him, he suddenly looked up and smiled, "Oh! Good morning, John."

"Morning," John replied, already wondering why Sherlock was so chipper this early in the morning. Looking around, he added, "Where is Harper?"

He felt slightly guilty for not asking after her last night. But he hoped she was better now. He found it strange that she wasn't there with them.

"She left," Sherlock stated, looking at his tea. "Are you having some tea?"

John looked at him in surprise. "Left? What do you mean by left?"

"Really, John?! Went away, departed, gone away. . ."

"Alright, Sherlock! I get the point. That's not what I meant!"

"You should really learn to think before you speak, John."

John scowled. "Well, yes now," he cleared his throat, "why did Harper leave?"

Sherlock suddenly looked up and widened his eyes. "I didn't expect to see them here!"

John turned to look but saw nothing, "Sherlock . . . who?" when he turned back, he caught the tail end of Sherlock's coat exiting through the door.

John cursed and pulled on his coat before hurrying after Sherlock's fast retreating figure. He felt puzzled when he saw Sherlock move in the opposite direction to the lake, but shrugging followed him. Soon, he stood in front of an imposing pair of iron wrought gates, gulping when they opened a little wider with an ominous noise. He saw Sherlock disappear behind a pair of gravestones and followed muttering about his stubborn flatmate.

John walked in to see that Sherlock had cast off his coat and was digging up a grave.

"Sherlock, what—" the rest of what he was going to say faded out when Sherlock pulled off a plank and an off-putting, nasty odor filled the air. Gasping for breath, John looked in before retreating back hastily.

"Sherlock, what is going on?"

"Really, John, can you not _see_? These _are_ the victims!"

"The victims? Wait, the ones who were drowned by the ghost?" John raised his eyebrow.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but nodded.

"How can you be so sure?"

Sherlock immediately went into his deducing mode. "Four bodies, same as the number of victims. The state of the decay coincides with the timeline of their disappearances. " Seeing John's dubious expression, he continued, "Also as you can see here, the finger here had a ring of a unique serpentine shape that is similar to the one worn by the latest victim, Aaron Bayes in the photograph in the files."

John looked down at the corpses, pity reflecting in his gaze. "So you are telling me they were here all along?"

Sherlock simply nodded. Suddenly the silence was pierced by John's phone ringing, John pulled it out and answered it, "Hello . . . yes, Lestrade . . . Hello?"

He looked at his phone just to see the call had dropped. "The connection here is atrocious!"

Sherlock ignored him and walked ahead. "Pirates!" He called with a smirk.

"What did you say, Sherlock?" John asked, walking towards him.

"We are dealing with pirates, John. It's so simple. It's time to put an end to this."

"Pirates? Sherlock, what do you mean by pirates?" He spluttered, but by then Sherlock was busy typing on his phone, and John groused over the fact that Sherlock's phone always seemed to have connectivity.

John looked at his phone once more before deciding that Lestrade could wait and hurried to catch up to Sherlock whose back was slowly getting further away into the trees.

* * *

Later that evening, John sat in a corner of the lounge and stared at the phone screen. As much as he wished his glare to get his connection back up, it wasn't happening. Suddenly, he noticed a single bar on his phone and immediately called Lestrade.

Just as the call connected, he felt Sherlock pull the phone out of his hand. "Lestrade, John will talk later." He cut the call and began to walk away.

When John just sat staring at his empty hand, Sherlock huffed in annoyance and tossed his phone back. Years of training came in handy and John immediately caught the phone.

"Sherlock, that was—"

"Yes, John. You can talk later. Follow me now." With that Sherlock began to walk away.

John considered not listening to him but his curiosity got the better of him and he followed Sherlock back out into the forest.

Sherlock weaved his way through the forest only this time they ended up exiting the forest right by the ruins. John looked around and he could just make out the lake through the trees.

"How did we end up here, Sherlock? Isn't this the path to the lake?"

Sherlock turned, looked at John and nodded, "Yes, but based on the fact that the lake and the castle at one point were accessed without a problem, it was just a matter of figuring out the right broken path."

John nodded. "So what now?" he asked, turning towards his friend.

"Now, we wait."

"Sherlock, I'm at a loss here. You have not only left me behind, but also found the bodies of the victims, who didn't even drown but were killed. If it means there is another person killing them, then the murderer is still on the loose. But if that's the case, there could be more victims. Not Go—" John's voice broke when he noticed something in the peripheral.

"Bloody Hell!" he gasped when he saw a flicker of light and what was unmistakably a lantern bob on top of the tower. His breath left him in a swoop as he gasped out, "Lady Argton! But how?!"

"About time!" John turned swiftly to watch, confused as Sherlock smirked and nodded to himself.

* * *

 **A/N:** I love ghost stories :D

 **Review and Comments are much appreciated!**

 **And don't forget to click those little 'Favorite' and 'Follow' buttons. You will get a notification whenever the story is updated!**


	6. Case 1 - Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 - Shadows of Camborne**

John stood stunned for a moment before his mind began to work. Sherlock obviously knew what was going on. This either meant that he had figured out what was going on or that he had choreographed this thing, whatever it was now John didn't know what to believe, was Lady Argton _really_ up there or was this a fake haunting courtesy of one Sherlock Holmes? Confused, he turned to his friend.

Sherlock caught his look and gave him a condescending smile. "John, you think I am behind this? Now why would I do that?" the tone along with the words made John rethink his thoughts while Sherlock just turned back to look at the lake with a smirk on his face.

John stood torn between staying next to Sherlock and watching the lake or running up the tower just to see if it was a ghost or not. When the light bobbed again, he moved forward but one look from Sherlock stopped him.

"Sherlock, if you really don't have anything to do with the light up there, why aren't we looking into that right now?"

"Why do you think the bodies turned up, John?"

"I am sorry, what?"

"Bodies, John. There is a lot more at work here than just a murder."

"What do you mean? Are you saying you found something else?" John asked curiously.

"Answer this: if ghosts don't exist and people are still getting killed, why would it be so?"

"Umm . . . hmm . . . hmmm." John scuffled his feet.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What is the common factor here?"

"The Lake and the castle?" John asked, at Sherlock's _go-on_ look he thought back, suddenly his eyes lit up in understanding. "You mean there's something hidden in that castle and somebody doesn't want anyone wandering around and finding it. So whoever went there to find out what was being hidden, they were killed!"

"Good job!" Sherlock smirked. "Now go on."

"So when we were exploring, Harper must have been almost near that place where something was hidden, that's why she was attacked. Sherlock, she could have been killed!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and shrugged.

"What if she decided to explore the ruins again and was attacked by these people or the ghost?"

To this Sherlock groaned and shook his head. "That's where you are wrong, John! Attacked, yes. By a ghost, no. Absolutely not. Ghosts don't go attacking people, especially girls like Harper. But think, this is an old castle, and I said pirates. What do pirates want?"

John looked at the detective in confusion then looked down, trying hard to think and when it hit him, "Treasure!" he cried.

Seeing Sherlock smirk, John asked, awestruck, "How do you know all this?"

"It's a puzzle, John. Put it together and there's your answer. But well done! You got the answer. There is a treasure. Lord Argton was what you call a hoarder. He had a lot of wealth stashed away. The smugglers found it just like I did. There is a hidden passage very close to where Harper was attacked. The mechanism itself is quite crude but well hidden. It leads to a room with gold ingots." Looking at John's gobsmacked expression, he frowned. "Yes, John, gold. I did say pirates. There is also a passageway five steps from where we stand into a little tunnel built under the castle, well, ruins now. The lake moves past that rock into the tunnel. The gold is smuggled out in the dead of the night with the ghost story spooking off nosey onlookers. The ones who still did come here, either by chance or voluntarily are all lying in that grave you saw. The killings along with the alleged haunting has let them get away with their racket for a long time."

Suddenly, Sherlock went stock-still and crouched lower somehow gracefully bending into the shadows, and John followed instinctively but a little more clumsily. He cast a wary eye at the light still flickering in the tower, it made him queasy. Suddenly, he startled, causing Sherlock to give him a warning glare, but John was concerned about Harper. _What if Harper hadn't left? What if she had been taken?_ His panic caused a tingle in his leg when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Do you have your gun, John?" Sherlock asked. John immediately touched his pocket and nodded. "Good, because we have some pirates to catch."

John looked at Sherlock and found him staring at the lake. Slowly a small light was seen and it was coming closer. John looked confused for a second before turning to look in the direction Sherlock was looking in. A small light was slowly growing larger as it neared them over the lake. The faint noise of oars hitting the water grew as well. John pulled back into the shadows as three men jumped off the boat and pulled it to the shore.

The light in the tower began to sway to an imaginary wind and John gasped quietly when he noticed a lady's shadow behind it. Sherlock's many explanations had not included one to prove the ghost didn't exist and now John felt a chill run down his spine.

As the men drew nearer, he could hear an argument raging. Not able to help himself, John looked up to now see the lantern swaying crazily with the figure behind it an ominous presence, he turned to ask Sherlock, but Sherlock seemed more interested in the men than the ghost in the tower. He listened as they drew within hearing range.

". . . must be some fool playing brave," a crude voice cut through the silence.

"Are you sure it isn't one of the villagers?" a more even, low voice questioned.

"Shush! It's not one of those dimwits, they still believe in our ghost tale." The first man laughed and the third man punched his shoulder.

"Shut your mouth. I told ya the Lady haunted the castle. I told ya but you didn't listen. Now she is here to kill us all. She knows we killed using her name, now she will kill us all," a spooked out third voice spoke up.

"Ghosts don't exist, you twit!"

"Oh, you are absolutely right," they heard a voice coming from the woods. "Ghosts don't exist but we do." All three whirled around to see Sherlock striding out of hiding, John at his side, with a gun pointed right at them.

"Oh, it is the posh detective from the city. That coat will sell well," leered the first man.

"It is amusing that you think you will kill us and get your grubby hands on my coat, but you see the game is up, your story is blown. Do yourself a favor and shut up before you incriminate yourself further. I hope you have a not-so-pleasant time in gaol," Sherlock spoke as he nodded at something.

Suddenly the clearing was surrounded by Lestrade and his officers.

When the men were taken away, Sherlock turned towards Lestrade, "Good timing. The gold is in the dungeons and you have seen where the bodies were. These three men worked together. The man with the goat tattoo is the leader. One of the three usually used to light up the lamp and call forth his mates to retrieve the gold. The lamp acted both as an indicator and scared the people away all at once."

"We will need a statement later, Sherlock. For now, well done!" Lestrade smiled.

"Wait, he was here?" John asked as he stared at Lestrade then at his friend. "Lestrade was here all along? He saw the bodies? But how did you figure out those men would come."

"Easy, Lady Argton helped me." Sherlock smirked. "You can come out now!"

Slowly a hooded figure walked towards them from the ruins. It stopped right in front of them and removed the hood.

Sherlock smiled. "Good job, Harper."

"Wait, Harper was here too?" John asked in surprise.

"We were all here, John," Harper spoke. "But we were assigned to do different things. For instance, Mr. Holmes asked me to act like the ghost of Lady Argton. This way the men who smuggled the gold could be lured into our trap."

"But how did you know it was them, Sherlock?" This time it was Lestrade that spoke.

"The haunting was a set up, obviously. Put together the story of Lord Argton's wealth and the lake, plus finding the secret entrance, there wasn't much to it. Based on the sightings of the people and the evidence, it was easy to spot their signal. Then it was just the matter of luring them out with a false light. A confession makes Lestrade's job easier so spooking them was what we did." Turning to Lestrade, he continued, "You will find that the fingerprints found on the victims and on the gold will match theirs perfectly, also the fourth victim's ring is on the leader's finger."

"But how did you find the bodies?" Lestrade asked Sherlock but looked at Harper.

Harper smiled. "I went out to explore this place on my own and found the cemetery. The grave at the end of the cemetery caught my eye so I decided to get Mr. Holmes, and then we found the bodies."

"But what made you search the cemetery, Harper? The bodies could have been anywhere," John said.

"You are right about that, but the grave was out of place. A fresh one in a centuries old cemetery. It does make sense in a way. What's the best place to hide a body where people won't go looking for? A cemetery. No one would think of searching for a body in a place bodies are buried."

"A fake haunting to catch the actual ghosts of Camborne. This case is closed." Sherlock smirked and began to walk back to the inn with Lestrade, John and Harper following him.

* * *

 **One Week Later**

John sat in his chair, furiously typing his blog. Sherlock stood behind him in his cobalt blue dressing gown wrapped around him with pajama pants peeking from underneath; with a coffee mug in his hand, he read what John wrote over his shoulder.

" _'_ _Shadows of Camborne_ _'_ , seriously, John?" Sherlock shook his head looking at the title.

"What? It's better than _'_ _Ghosts of Camborne_ _'._ " John grinned at him.

"Ghosts don't exist, John! How many times do I have to say that?!" Sherlock groaned. Seeing John getting back to his blog, he moved away.

Light footsteps distracted him and he turned around to see Mrs. Hudson walking in. "Sherlock, there's a young lady at the door asking for you."

"A redhead?" Sherlock raised his eyebrow before plopping on the armchair.

"Yes, how do you always know? I'll just let her in," Mrs. Hudson called before walking away.

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed, when he opened them again he saw Harper walking in.

"Good morning, Mr. Holmes, John," she greeted them with a smile as she walked in.

"Morning Harper," John greeted. "Have a seat."

"Thanks," she replied as she looked at Sherlock, who was still staring at her.

"You stare a lot, don't you?" Harper grinned.

"What brings you here, Miss. Crew?" Sherlock asked, getting straight to the point.

"I just wanted to thank you for allowing me to work with you on this case. I really appreciate it."

"You did a great job, Harper. You really are a good detective," John smiled, closing his laptop.

Sherlock looked at them and groaned. Just then Mrs. Hudson walked in with something in her hand. Walking over to the chair, she handed it over to him. "This just came for you, Sherlock."

Sherlock stood and walked over to the window, his eyes rapidly looking at the envelope.

 _Customized paper, light print on the corners. Expensive, good taste._ He took a whiff from it, a light scent of lavender covered it.

The envelope just had one word written on the center.

 ** _Sherlock_**

Looking at the handwriting, he deduced the writer was a confident female, open-minded, secretive, intuitive.

Pulling a letter opener from under the skull on the mantle, he slit the edge open and pulled out the paper and brought it to his nose. The same scent of lavender wafted off the paper.

"Is he sniffing the paper?" He heard Harper ask John. Ignoring them, he continued to deduce from the letter.

The ink and paper were again expensive just like Sherlock had expected. In the same well looped handwriting, a message was written for him.

 _Dear Sherlock,_

 _Congratulations on solving the Camborne case. Who knew what the shadows hide? But sometimes even your own shadow leaves you alone in the darkness._

 _I cannot wait to see you again._

 _Love,_  
 _A.L._

Sherlock frowned at the letter before shoving it into the pocket of his dressing gown. He smirked before saying, "Now, who are you _A.L_? Interesting!"

* * *

 **A/N:** Ooh! Sherlock has a mysterious admirer? Who could that be? Anyway, Case 1 has come to an end. I'll probably update again in a week or two. Anyone reading?

 **Review and Comments are much appreciated!**

 **And don't forget to click those little 'Favorite' and 'Follow' buttons. You will get a notification whenever the story is updated!**


End file.
